Monday, November 24, 2014

Last Thursday, my dad, John P. Shanley, passed away at the age of 79. Without going into details, it was an illness that came on fairly quickly. The last couple weeks were really painful for him, which was hard to witness. I'm glad he's at peace, though I wish he was still here.

There were a lot of layers to my dad.
He could be reserved and soft spoken. He could be loud and opinionated. He
loved his spy novels, but he also loved vintage comedy, which seemed as funny
to him in the moment as it did when he first saw it decades ago. Almost every situation
was ripe for a wry comment or observation. I remember him telling me that on his final day
of work, when he finally retired from United Mental Health, Inc., he marked the end
of the day – and really, the end of an era – by marching a toy robot out
of his office to indicate that he was about to leave.

If he really found something hilarious, he would let fly with a raspy
laugh that sounded like metal rake being dragged across cement – a Shanley
family trait which I heard coming from my aunt Mary Jeanne many times as well.

When I was in college I frequently
came over for Sunday dinner and Pop often slipped me a couple dollars. “Don’t
tell your mother,” he’d say. And he didn't say this because Mum would object to me
getting the money. It might have been her idea, for all I know. “Don’t tell you
mother,” was a line from a comedy routine by Shelley Berman, based
on a conversation he had with his father.

I discovered this comedy bit through
my folks. In it, Berman recounts how he wanted to join his friends at acting
school and needed to ask his dad for the money to do it. Too afraid to ask him
in person, he calls his day at work – at a delicatessen. On a Saturday, the
busiest day of the week.

You hear the phone conversation only on the father’s
side. He’s already mad that he’s being pulled away from work, and he gets even
madder when he hears that his son wants money for acting school - something he
consider frivolous.

But as the conversation goes on, he
gets his son to commit to working in the shop and he’ll give him the money,
including “a Christmas bonus,” which is why the Jewish father tells him, “don’t
tell you mother.”

In the set-up of the routine, Berman
jokes about his dad but also defends him, saying he’s a good person. And you
hear that as the bit proceeds. The father’s anger turns to support – even if he
thinks his son is crazy, he’ll be there for him, reminding him, “No matter what
happens, here, you’ll always a home.” I love this comedy routine because in
addition to being funny it’s also poignant – a homage to his dad.

I once had a phone call with Pop that
I feel paralleled Berman’s. I was taking a class in college that I thought I
was going to fail and I wanted to drop it. But I was worried about how that was
going to affect my financial aid. So I figured I’d call the house and get some
perspective – from my mother. If I talked to Pop, I figured I’d be in trouble.

I called my parents’ house – and Pop picked up. Here it comes, I thought. He’s going
to give it to me.

I told him what was going on. I
couldn’t hack the class. I was afraid I was going to fail. What do I do?

Much to my surprise – and relief –
Pop was cool. And empathetic. Don’t give up. Talk to your professor. If you’re
straight with her, she ought to understand.

He went on to explain that when he
was going to Duquesne, he had a similar experience. He was working overnights
at the J&L mill, going to school by day and needed to talk to a prof, and
the two worked things out. In talking about his combination of school and work,
he had to lighten the mood with a joke, “You get a difference perspective on
things when you have three squealers at home,” which affectionately referred to
my three older brothers.

I knew that he had worked overnights
and had gone to school during the day. But it never occurred to me why up until that point. That was what
you did to support your family. The weekend performances at Churchill Valley
Country Club – it wasn’t just a music gig, even if the band really swung. It
was to support the family.

The impact of what he said on the
phone that day might not have been immediate but I did realize at some point that if he could
do all that, one anthropology class is nothing for me. I could pull myself
up by my bootstraps and work a little harder. And I did. And I got an A. When I
told him that, he said, “See I told ya.” And it wasn't a patronizing thing. It
was said with that mischievous look in his eye, that had wisdom with it.

Sometimes the things that you learn
from your parents are not the things they say to you directly. They’re the
things you discover after they’ve put you on the path of your life. The
in-between things that you don’t even realize at the time.

There were a lot qualities that my
dad possessed. One of the biggest ones was that he was deep.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

2014 will probably be seen as a banner year for Resonance Records. Within a few months of each other they released John Coltrane's Offering: Live at Temple University (which is probably the most talked-about album of the year, other than Mostly Other People Do the Killing's Blue) and this two-disc set of two newly discovered live recordings by saxophonist Charles Lloyd. Like the Coltrane set, Manhattan Stories also comes with a huge booklet of photos and essays, including an interview with Lloyd, all of it added to the set.

Both performances occurred during the summer and early autumn of 1965 and they represent an exciting "in-between" time for the tenor saxophonist. Lloyd had already logged time with the groups of Chico Hamilton and Cannonball Adderley (the latter considered by many to be "mismatch," as Michael Cuscuna mentions in this liner notes). He also finished sessions for Of Course Of Course, his second Columbia album earlier that year with guitarist Gabor Szabo, bassist Ron Carter and drummer Tony Williams. By the summer, Williams was gone, replaced by Pete LaRoca, whose performances can inspire one to search out the few albums he made as a leader, to get a greater dose of his powerful, unsung playing.

One disc comes from a set the group played at the Festival of the Avant-Garde at Judson Hall. The other comes from a gig recorded at the infamous Lower East Side club Slugs' Saloon. The sound quality of both sets is impeccable, capturing the excitement of these four at a time before they became revered jazz legends, but clearly revealing why such designations eventually came along, at least for a couple of them.

Considering the direction of jazz in 1965 and the name of the Festival of the Avant-Garde, disc one doesn't find the Lloyd quartet heading outward in any extreme direction. But even with their feet remaining on the ground, the three lengthy tracks have plenty of fire power. "Sweet Georgia Bright," from his Columbia debut Discovery! (all these exclamatory statements!) goes on for nearly 18 minutes, none of it excessive, from Lloyd's somewhat throaty tenor to Sims' propulsive work all over his kit. The tender ballad "How Can I Tell You" stretches out for over 11 minutes, and Szabo's "Lady Gabor" has the leader on flute for the first of two versions of this 6/4 vamp.

Despite its fertile ground for musical innovation, Slugs' had a seedy reputation too. This was a place where pushers and hustlers co-mingled with musicians like Jackie McLean and Sun Ra, or Salvador Dali, who showed up at least once with an entourage. For better or worse, the space has gone down in history as the locale where trumpeter Lee Morgan was shot and killed by his ex-girlfriend in 1972, which eventually put the kibosh on the joint. So it comes as no surprise that audience chatter can be heard during the Lloyd set recorded there. But if anything, the rugged nature of the room brought out the best in the band.

Also consisting of three lengthy tunes, disc two begins with "Slugs' Blues" which Lloyd supposedly wrote virtually on the spot. While adhering to the traditional structure, the group mixes it up as they go. Most impressive is Carter who walks a bit, switches to rich double stops and then, in his own solo adds some flatted fifth to make it sound even richer. No wonder someone (maybe a band member, maybe an audience member) repeated yells, "Yeah," throughout the set. La Roca really drives the second "Lady Szabo," which gets all manner of ideas out of Lloyd, including a moment where he predicts the vocal style of Leon Thomas. "Dream Weaver," later to be the title track of high-regarded album, is heard here in its early, but clearly set, stages.

A year later, Lloyd would form his own "classic" quartet with Jack DeJohnette, Cecil McBee and Keith Jarrett, and the Lloyd band heard here would be remembered only by a few. Thankfully, a few people had the foresight to document this work, which serves as a reminder that legends have to start somewhere.

I'm what you'd call a music enthusiast. Not one of those obsessive people, but definitely fanatical about it. This blog began as a forum for whatever I am listening to throughout the day but I'm also trying to include full-blown CD reviews too.

About Me

UPDATED - 9/15/2018. Over the past couple years, most of the entries here have been focused on jazz, with fewer on indie rock or albums from my past that I've dug up. I'm not limiting myself to one style. But most of the music I receive is jazz and since there aren't a whole lot of jazz writers out there, I try to provide a forum for it. Regarding me, I've lived in Pittsburgh all my life and despise the people who live here who put it down because it says less about the town than it does about them. Until recently, I played bass and sang in a band called the Love Letters, who released a double 7" single. (Something else is sort of in the works but I'll keep you posted.) Prior to that, I played in Amoeba Knievel, the Fearnots and the Mofones. Previously I played in Bone of Contention (ever heard "Barbie Likes to Die"? People on the interweb have!), the Pundits, Paul Lynde 451 and Mystery Date. After several years of freelancing for Pittsburgh City Paper, I now write for the new Pittsburgh Current, which everyone should check out online or in print. Nationally I contribute to JazzTimes magazine.